


they're weighing our hands down, our human frailties

by whyyesitscar



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 20:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20972225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: You could tell her about New Year’s, offer that as a compromise. But Monica’s worth more than another broken promise, even if you’re sure you won’t break it.// or: five times monica didn't realize how much carol sacrificed + one time she did.





	they're weighing our hands down, our human frailties

**Author's Note:**

> i've read so many over the years and yet, impossibly, i don't think i've actually written a 5+1 fic. title and lyrics from "setting up sunday" by meg & dia.
> 
> please enjoy!

_kid, i'm right here and i'm not leaving;_  
_there's no way to make you stay._  
_but i'm saving all my worries for  
_ _the day you don't need me._

//

**i. **

“What took you so long coming home?”

You dump your bag by the door, then immediately pick it back up when Maria glares. You compromise and set it on the sofa, making sure to wink.

“Had to take care of something.” You find your way to the kitchen—it isn’t hard when the apartment’s so small—and lean over Maria’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. “I don’t know what that is, but I can’t wait to eat it.”

“You say that about everything.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” You cross your arms and lean against the counter. “Do you want me to take over? Can I do the dishes?”

“Carol.”

“Sweep, vacuum? The bathroom’s dirty, right; I can clean that.”

Maria laughs and turns around, letting her wooden spoon drop into the pan. You wish she’d put it on the counter—it’s gonna burn one of these days.

“I’m barely showing, Carol,” Maria smiles. “You can wait on me hand and foot when I really need it.”

“Okay.”

Maria turns back to cooking. “You’re in your head again, baby. What’s up?”

You wrap your arms around Maria’s waist, taking care not to squeeze too much. “Nothing,” you murmur. “Just missed you, I guess.”

.

Maria notices immediately the next morning when you leave for work.

“I knew something was missing last night; there wasn’t any loud ass engine telling me you were home. What happened to your bike?”

“It’s in the shop.”

“You polish and fix that thing any chance you get; no, it’s not.”

“I blew a tire.”

“Carol.”

“Oil change.”

“Uh huh.”

“The headlight’s out?”

“Would you quit lying?”

“Okay, okay.” You shove your hands in your pockets and rock back on your heels. “I sold it.”

Maria glares, cocks her head, rests her hands on her hips. You wait.

“You did not,” Maria accuses.

“No, I definitely did.”

“I know you, Carol, and if you sold it for the reason I think you did…”

“Okay, but would that be so bad?” You run a hand through your hair. It would be too much to kick at the dirt right now, but you want to. “Listen, this is—this is mostly new for me, and I don’t really know what to do. But I do know that if I can help, I should help, so. I am.”

Maria softens, lets her arms drop to pick at the hem of her shirt. “That’s a lot to ask of someone.”

“You don’t _ever_ have to ask, Maria.”

“I hope you still think it’s worth it when I’m big and cranky and making you get me stupid shit.”

“I hope you realize it’s worth it then. Pretty soon I will be waiting on you hand and foot and you’re gonna hate being cooped up and not working, and that’s what this is for. To just...get rid of some worries.”

Maria waits for a moment, absolutely inscrutable, before dragging you out of the front yard and into the house, away from any windows. She cradles your cheeks in her hands. This thing you have, it’s new and quiet and you’ve been tiptoeing around your feelings, waiting for a sign that maybe it’s okay to show just how deep they run. (Bottomless, you think; at least so far.)

“I know you better than anyone else in the world,” Maria whispers, “and you keep on surprising me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“I could stop doing that, if you want.”

“Don’t ever.”

You smile the entire time it takes Maria to lean down and kiss you, and then you feel like crying. She kisses you like maybe she’s in deep, too—soft lips and strong thumbs that sweep away the creases in your skin. Sometimes, like now, you’re sure you exist for her consumption.

“We’re gonna be late,” you say eventually.

“I know,” she replies. “Just wanted to say thank you.”

“Well.”

Maria clears her throat and steps back, breaking the spell. “C’mon, I’ll race you.”

“Oh, sure. The one day I finally don’t have my bike is the day you want to race. I can take you, you know.”

Maria slides into her Camaro, winking as she revs up the engine. “We’ll see.”

You turn the key until your engine roars to life, settling into a persistent rumble. Your sunglasses fall over your eyes as you lean out the window. “Don’t let me win.”

She lets you win.

/

**ii.**

It’s a lot to think about, so for once you pay attention to speed limits and stop at every stop sign. You can’t fathom how people drive like this every day.

The sun is blinding at six thirty, even with your shade pulled down. You drum your fingers on the side of your car, impatiently waiting for the light to turn green. The fact that you want it to change is the reason that it won’t, you’re sure of it.

You lean your head back, blowing out a loud, long breath. This opportunity is everything you would have jumped at three years ago; it’s exactly the kind of path you always thought the Air Force would give you. There’s really only one problem with it, and usually even that would be something you’d be able to overlook.

But now you have a family, and you’re not sure if they’d move a hundred miles away for you.

Someone honks behind you and you hit the gas too hard, evening out after a few hundred feet and a decidedly obscene gesture thrown out your window. You’ll be home in twenty minutes and you can talk to Maria then, even though you know what she’ll say. Maybe you won’t talk to her after all, just so you won’t have to hear her say it.

This is the kind of conversation that should be saved for sad rainy days, but it never rains here.

The world is so unfair sometimes.

For the first time since you sold your bike, you’re glad you can come home quietly. It gives you a few extra seconds to sit and try to come up with how you’re going to tell Maria that you might have to choose between her and a promotion.

Nothing comes to you. Mostly you just sulk.

Blinds rustle at the front window and you can see shapes moving—one adult-sized and one very small, disappearing from view every couple of seconds as she bounces on the couch. You smile and turn off the car—you can sulk later.

There are murmurs behind the door as you search for your keys, Maria’s soft voice and a giggle that Monica can’t quite stifle. You pat your pockets for just a while longer, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“I hear you!” Monica shouts after a few seconds of waiting.

You suppress a laugh and throw open the door with a scream, laughing as you watch Monica run away with a shriek. She regards you for a moment then runs back just as quickly, jumping into your arms as soon as she’s in reach.

“Hey, Trouble!” You pick her up and kiss her cheek before you swing her onto your shoulders. She giggles and tries to pull away as you pretend to bite her toes.

“Mama, stop!”

“Yeah, Carol; you’ll ruin your appetite. We’re having something much better than baby feet for dinner.”

You pucker your lips with exaggeration and wait for Maria to stop rolling her eyes. You turn it into a real kiss when she finally leans down.

“Something better than baby feet? That could be so many things,” you murmur, wiggling an eyebrow or two.

“Quit it,” Maria says. But she smiles.

You finally close the door, set your keys on the end table, and give Monica a quick bounce on your shoulders. “Come on, Trouble. Let’s help your mom set the table.” Of course, you’re the one doing everything but you give Monica a stack of napkins to hold, and she passes one down before you place every piece of silverware. You’re looking forward to the day she learns how to count.

“My day was pretty boring at the base,” Maria calls from the kitchen. “How about you?”

You open your mouth and then take a moment to consider your answer. Monica leans down and playfully covers your eyes with her tiny hands—her tiny sticky hands; you’ll definitely have to wash up before dinner. You shake your head, not enough to scare her but just enough to make her laugh. She leans forward even more until she’s lying on your head, her hands tucked under your chin. She’s messed up your hair to the point where it’s all hanging in front of your eyes and you can’t see anything, but you hope Maria is looking at you.

“This is the best part of it,” you answer truthfully. “Absolutely nothing else happened of any importance.”

Promotions will come and go. You plan on staying here forever.

/

**iii. **

She can’t wait to be out of this office. Maria has never wanted to be anywhere less than where she is right now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in uncomfortable clothes and fighting a losing battle with her tears.

“I understand this is difficult,” the executor says. “I’ll try to make it quick.”

“Thank you,” Maria quietly responds.

“It’s unusual for someone so young to have a will. It’s also fairly straight-foward so we should be done soon.”

“I wasn’t aware—” Maria clears her throat and swallows a few times. “I wasn’t aware Carol had anything worth leaving in a will.”

“Not much,” he agrees, “but there are a few things. Her car is yours, as is her savings account.” He lists off a few more items, mostly just instructions on what to do with the few things Carol kept from her childhood. Maria doesn’t put much effort into listening.

“The last item is a separate bank account set up in your daughter’s name.”

Maria shakes her head, perking up. “She left money for Monica?”

“Yes. You have control of it until Monica is twenty one. After that, Monica can do—and I quote—‘whatever the fuck she wants with it, and make sure Maria knows there are no rules.’”

He passes the bank documents to her and she’s not sure if she wants to laugh or cry hysterically. Maria feels on the edge of both.

The account has just over eight thousand dollars in it. Carol made five hundred dollar deposits every year on Monica’s birthday, after an initial deposit in 1983 of about five grand. Maria will never be able to ask her, but she’d bet anything that’s what a used motorcycle goes for these days.

Crying it is.

/

**iv. **

There’s beeping at your wrist every time you punch an enemy, and you think you must have knocked some wiring loose in your communicator. But it seems fine even when the fight’s over and there aren’t any flashing red lights or other indicators that it might be broken.

It’s actually something worse, you realize when you finally tap the screen.

_CHRISTMAS DAY_, it flashes in big letters. After a few seconds of inactivity the words bubble up to hover above your hand, flickering like an old neon sign.

“Fuuuuck,” you groan. “God fucking damn it.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Talos says, his voice tinny in your ear.

“Fuck off,” you retort, though there’s little bite in it.

“We’ve got the refugees on board; why don’t you head back?”

“Sure, sure.” You’re back at the ship five seconds later, grinning at Talos through the main window. “At least make it difficult to catch up next time.”

“Yeah, yeah; you’re too fast and too strong—blah, blah, blah. Come inside and let me knock you down a few pegs.”

You roll your eyes and float through the bay doors, blowing hair out of your face as the ship’s cooling system blows it in.

“Is that important?” Talos gestures to your blinking wrist as he comes down the stairs.

“God—no. Yes. Not about the Kree or any stranded Skrulls.” You shut it down with a few angry keystrokes. “I’m missing a holiday back home,” you finally explain.

“We’re sixteen hours away with jump points,” he offers. “Maybe you could make it.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s kind of a one-day thing. Well, two I guess, but I missed that yesterday. Monica’s gonna be so disappointed I’m not there.” You puff up your cheeks and release the air slowly, doing your best to hold back the tears that are threatening as well.

“Call them,” Talos urges.

“I don’t know if I could handle that.”

“It’s not about you, Carol. An apology now is better than an apology too late.”

You glare before lightly punching his shoulder. “I’ll be...don’t wait up,” you say as you walk away, offering a halfhearted wave.

You have Maria’s connection ready to go but you don’t make the call until you’re sitting in your quarters, having taken a few calming breaths. They didn’t really do much.

Maria barely lets the communicator ring before she picks up.

“Hey.”

“Merry Christmas,” you offer sheepishly. There’s a bump behind Maria and for a moment you see a patch of Monica’s hair. “It’s past midnight, Trouble; what are you doing still awake?”

“Waiting for you,” she grumbles.

You’re glad her back is to you so she can’t see you frown.

“Monica,” Maria chides. The picture jostles as she walks, finally closing the door to your bedroom and settling on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“I know.” Maria places her communicator on the nightstand and angles it so you can see her face. “She’ll get over it.”

“She shouldn’t have to.”

“Well.” Maria shrugs and lies down, propping herself up with an elbow. “It’s not like you don’t want to be here.”

“Still.” You take a deep breath and wipe a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry for you, too. Monica isn’t the only person I’m disappointing.”

“I wish you wouldn’t put it that way,” Maria sighs. “Self-pity doesn’t look good on anyone, especially not you.”

“Sure, I guess not.” You clear your throat and attempt a smile. “I think I can get away for New Year’s.”

“The same way you got away for Christmas?”

“I—”

“No, I’m sorry,” Maria immediately apologizes, waving away your response. “That wasn’t fair.”

You smile, starting to relax a little. “We could apologize to each other all night for this. How about we just talk until you think Monica’s calmed down enough?”

Maria sighs and smiles herself. “Okay.”

You let her do most of the talking, and truthfully, you barely listen. You can get the gist of what she’s saying—Monica is amazing and is growing into an amazing person; Fury is ridiculous but it’s nice to have him pop in every once in a while; S.H.I.E.L.D. is slowly wearing down Maria’s reluctance to work for them. All of this you know and normally you would care. But Maria is beautiful and so far away and you want to look at her face for as long as it’s in front of you.

“Carol.”

“Hm.”

“Are you listening to me?”

You blink very quickly, shaking off the daydreams. “Yes,” you lie. “Okay, not completely. I was distracted.”

“Carol…”

“You can tell me everything you just said when I come back in a week, because the only way I’m not spending New Year’s with my family is if I die first.”

“That shit’s not funny, Carol.”

Maria probably knows you’re blushing, even if she can’t see it. “Sorry.”

“When you get home—for good, not just for holidays—we’re gonna have a long talk about how flippant you are with your life. Maybe you’ve still got six years of being young and stupid to make up for what we lost, but you can’t only be that. You belong to something bigger than your powers.”

“I know that,” you mumble. “I’ve always known that.”

“I believe you, but it’s different now. Monica’s a whole person, even more than when you disappeared. I’m not sure you really know how much she looks up to you.”

“No, I know. I feel it.” You look up and take a moment to compose yourself. “It’s, like, almost as much as I love her.”

“I remember,” Maria chuckles. “I keep tabs on that bank account. Thinking about you setting that up before she was born, before I even went on maternity leave—that’s why I need you to take this seriously. There are some things this family can only go through once.”

You swallow and nod, smiling, which is about as much as you’re capable of right now.

“I will never, ever doubt your devotion to this family,” Maria continues. “I just—you’re so much more than a superhero, Carol. I hope that sinks in someday.”

“God, I forget how much I love you sometimes.”

“I love you too, baby.”

You wipe your nose inelegantly on the back of your sleeve. “You think Monica’s up for chatting?”

“I think she’d never speak to me again if I didn’t come back with you.”

Your laugh burbles more than you thought it would. “Okay, okay. I’ll be good by the time you get to her.”

You shake out your arms as Maria walks back; you crack your fingers and roll your neck and open your mouth until you don’t feel so tight anymore. Maria takes a minute to get the communicator situated near Monica and you have to suppress more than a few chuckles when you see her pout.

“Hey, Trouble.”

“Hi,” she grumbles.

“Sorry?” You cup your ear. “I didn’t catch that.”

She tries to hide a smile. “Hi, Mom.”

“That’s what I thought you said. Listen, I’m really sorry I’m not there for Christmas. I know I said I would be, and I’m not. I’m sorry that I let you down.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not, but I appreciate you saying that.” You catch Maria’s eye and take a moment to melt when Monica looks down. “I want you to know that I wish I could be there just as much as you do, and I know that saying that doesn’t really help. But I mean it.”

“Are you gonna come home with extra presents so I believe you?”

“I dunno, would that work?” That finally gets a smile. “‘Cause I’ll do it; don’t think I won’t.”

Monica shrugs. “I just wish you weren’t gone so much.”

“Believe me, kiddo, you and I could not be more on the same page about that. I bet we’re even on the same word about that.”

“Do you think you’ll be done soon?”

It’s an impossible question. Of course you won’t be done soon; you’ll never be done. If you stayed in space as long as there were people who still needed help, you wouldn’t ever come back to Earth. Will you ever be done? No. Are you almost at a point where you can prioritize your family over the universe?

God, you hope so.

“I’m working on it,” you answer. “I think I’m getting really close.”

You could tell her about New Year’s, offer that as a compromise. But Monica’s worth more than another broken promise, even if you’re sure you won’t break it. She doesn’t understand yet how to hear what you’re not saying, and maybe she won’t ever have to. Until she does, and certainly for now, you’ll make sure to hear her.

So you wait for her to smile again and ask her about all the presents she got from her grandparents, and she talks until every word turns into a yawn. Monica carries the communicator to bed as Maria carries her, even though she’s just a little too big for it. You get a lovely view of the floor as it dangles in her hand.

“Thanks for staying so long,” Maria whispers as she tucks Monica in.

“I’d stay even longer,” you whisper back.

“Oh, you better; I haven’t gone to bed yet.” She leans over to turn off the light as she presses a kiss to Monica’s forehead. “Night, baby.”

Monica curls into her blanket a little tighter. “Love you, moms,” she slurs.

You drag your hands down your cheeks and stay like that until Maria’s back in the bedroom.

“She’s the best goddamn kid,” you finally say.

“You’re damn right.” She changes into pajamas and slips under the covers before you even have a chance to get a good look. “My turn now, though.”

You stay with her, smiling, until sunrise.

/

**v. **

_“Mom—Carol—whatever name I need to use to get you to call back...it’s been four months. You better be in some serious shit to ignore me for four months. And if you’re not, you’re gonna be.” _There are more than a few moments of static and you think maybe she just forgot to hang up. But she crackles back eventually, with a reluctant and cranky, _“love you”. _

There is a knot in your chest where your heart used to be, and it squeezes tighter every time Monica reaches out. You’re on your own most of the time, and you really have no problem ignoring Natasha. But Monica’s voice fills you with guilt every time you hear it.

You haven’t spoken to her in four months, and you haven’t seen her in person for almost two years. She doesn’t know that you cut your hair, or that most of the Skrulls got Snapped. There’s a lot she doesn’t know because you forget to tell her whenever you do talk because you get distracted.

She’s thirty six now, two years older than Maria was when you came back. Monica looks and sounds exactly like her.

You can’t stand it.

Maybe it would bother you more if you hadn’t done this before, if you didn’t already know what it was like to let her down. You had so many years as a family, so many quiet, safe years, and then everything changed in an instant. Half the universe was gone in the blink of an eye and for the first time in twenty years, Monica had questions you couldn’t answer. But the Avengers had planets you could fix and aliens you could punch, and that was enough. All too soon, that was everything.

You watch the blinking green light on your wrist, alerting you that you have an unreturned message. It’s very tempting to keep watching it blink, to let it go until you get brave enough to turn it off and let yourself forget. You’ve done it before.

You sit on a small moon and will a distress call to come in. You chew on the remnants of a sandwich and wait some more, and when you can’t wait any longer (because you were never very good at it), you throw away your crusts and make a call.

“_This_ is the call you decide to return? What makes it so different from any of the others?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Boy, I am so fucking sick of hearing that.”

“I know, god, I just—listen, it’s really nice to talk to you again.”

“You might try remembering that a little more frequently.”

“Monica, please don’t—”

“Whatever you’re about to say, do not. I don’t have time for excuses.”

“Okay.”

She huffs loudly. “Are you? Do you ever get hurt; are you eating enough; do you spend time with anyone but yourself?” She barely waits for a response. “I know you’re out there because the world is crumbling and someone needs to fix it, but I gotta tell you, Mom—the world’s crumbling here, too.”

You hang your head and scratch the back of your neck. It itches more these days. “I can’t do this, Monica.”

“Do what?”

“This, I can’t…” You take a deep breath and close your eyes, even though Monica never looks at you when you call anymore. “Every time I’ve felt like this, I’ve run to Maria. Whenever I fell apart, she was the one who fixed me up. She’s been stronger than me the whole time I’ve known her, before and after I got my powers. Fighting bad guys and saving aliens, that’s always been the easy part. But god, there were so many times in the beginning where Maria was the only thing holding you and me together. I wish I could tell you just how much it hurt to be away, how much I would break the world for you. I would break the world for you, Monica. I think if I came back right now, I might just level the planet.” You clear your throat more than a few times as you wait. If the two of you were talking on a pay phone, you’d hear the crackle of static.

Anything would be better than silence.

“I hear that,” Monica finally says. “I understand. I also couldn’t care less. The world’s already broken, Mom. I lost two parents in the Snap. One of them can’t come back, and the other won’t. I’m pretty fucked up about it.”

“I know.”

“Oh, okay. Problem solved.”

You let your head drop into your hands. “Are you still in DC?”

Monica sighs. “Sometimes. New York, too. I help Nat a bunch, which you’d know if you ever checked in with her.”

“She’s fine without me.”

“Not all of us are.”

“When are you gonna be in New York next?”

“I dunno, a few weeks maybe. Why?”

“Nothing, just...say hi to Nat for me.”

“Wow.”

“I love you, Monica.”

It’s quiet, but she says it back.

Two weeks later you fire up Natasha’s channel. You’re so flustered to see them that you forget whatever flimsy fake report you’d been concocting. They both look so tired.

Mostly you talk with Nat, waiting for Monica to make fun of your hair. She almost does, once, but holds it in when Natasha talks over a lull in the conversation.

It’s a start.

/

**vi. **

“You ever think about setting up a school or something?”

Monica plops down in the chair next to you as you sip on a beer you’re only drinking for the taste.

“For what?”

“Lotta kids with powers after the Snap. They could probably use some direction.”

“I’m not really the teacher type.”

“Every good parent is.”

You turn your head to look at her but Monica keeps her eyes trained on the crowd ahead.

“Something on your mind, Trouble?”

“Yeah, couple of things.” She unfolds her legs and stretches them out, wiggling her toes into the grass. “I wonder about Rafi sometimes, what I’d do if he started shrinking or something.”

“Are you kidding? You’d be all over that. He couldn’t be in better hands.”

“You think Fury ever said that about you?”

“Hey.”

“Sorry, still remembering how to not be mad at you.” She pulls another beer out of the cooler to her left, which you’re absolutely certain wasn’t there a minute ago. Monica even puts it in the coozy she made when she interned at S.H.I.E.L.D. It takes longer to kick in now than it used to, but it’s better than drinking warm beer.

“It took a while to sink in,” she continues. “What you said a few years ago.”

You watch Rafi run around with his cousins. You remember very clearly the day Monica adopted him last January; he was so quiet and polished in his tiny suit. They make suits for eight-year-olds. It’s absolutely wild.

You wouldn’t change anything about your past, even the missing parts, but god, you wish you could have put your family on paper when it mattered.

“I got you something.”

“Yeah?” Monica twists in her chair, searching. “Where is it?”

“Back at the house.”

“Usually when you tell someone you got them a gift, you have it with you.”

“I’ll have to remember that for next time.” Monica throws a stick in your lap. “Anyway, it’s just a couple of jackets.”

“A couple?”

“Yeah, you know. Enough for the family. Fury had to model the one for Davis.”

“Davis is three inches taller than Uncle Nick.”

“You’re nitpicky like your mom, you know that?”

“Yeah, and stubborn like the other one.”

“Damn right.” You dump the rest of your beer in the grass—the bottle got warm after all. “Come on, I wanna dip my feet in the water. I miss it.”

“They don’t have water on other planets?”

“It’s not the same.” You extend your hand and pull Monica up when she takes it. It’s a short walk to the water, past a few volleyball courts and the lone concessions shack. You twinkle your fingers in Rafi’s direction when he looks over. He waves back, smiling, and almost jogs toward you before another kid gets his attention. You stick your tongue out, just for good measure.

Monica watches him run just a little longer. She carries her love in her shoulders, in her cheeks and her crossed arms. You see it written all over her face, in the way she keeps shifting her weight in the sand, never standing with two feet on the ground. You tug her away when he runs out of sight, press a kiss to her temple and rub her back the way you used to when she was little.

She wraps an arm around your waist and matches your stride.

You’d recognize that look anywhere.


End file.
